


Open Roads

by smilebackwards



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilebackwards/pseuds/smilebackwards
Summary: “You did not tell me that the magician was part faerie,” Segundus said, with great dignity, from where he was tied, wrist and ankle, to one of the few well-preserved stone pillars by means of somewhat incongruous rose vines.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nonesane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonesane/gifts).



“Oh,” said John Segundus from the flat of his back, “Mr. Childermass.” 

Childermass loomed above him. “What, sir,” he said, forbiddingly, “are you doing upon the King’s Roads?” 

Segundus thought the answer manifestly obvious. “Travelling,” he said, pulling himself to his feet with the help of the stone pillar which he and Childermass had both cornered from opposite directions, thus colliding with enough force to knock Childermass a half step back and Segundus to the ground.

When Jonathan Strange wrote his book, nothing had interested Segundus more than the great stone staircases and arches Strange described behind the mirrors of England. His wonder had increased twelvefold upon stepping foot on them in person, seeing with his own eyes the ruined towers and the ravens swooping through the mist. And so convenient to travel to Oxford or Gloucester or Leeds whenever he had need to pick up a new book or periodical! Why the journey to Leeds alone would have taken three uncomfortable days by carriage when it was the work of a moment to cross between the little round mirror Segundus kept with his shaving kit and the tarnished gilt-framed oval that hung in the back room of R. M. Hillford’s tidy bookshop.

Childermass reached into his satchel and removed a horsehair brush with a silver handle. He stepped close and brushed efficiently at the dust now settled on the back and shoulders of Segundus’ coat. 

Segundus flushed. It was something he could imagine Childermass had once done for Mr Norrell. Segundus had never had a servant to tend to such things and would not have asked it of Childermass. But then, Segundus thought, eyes lingering on the smooth strokes of Childermass’ wrists, he had not asked.

Childermass stepped back and Segundus cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Thank you kindly.”

Childermass nodded and tucked the brush away. “There has been word of a magician travelling these roads with nefarious purpose,” he said. “Stealing books and letters and jewels away through mirrors.”

Segundus tightened his grip on the books he had newly, legally purchased and drew himself up indignantly. “You may be sure that I have done no such thing, sir,” he said coolly. 

Really, _stealing._ Segundus may have obtained several of the books at below asking price, but every man had the right to a bit of haggling. He and the proprietor of Broadstreet Books in particular rather enjoyed their battles and often took a very civilized tea after their business was concluded. 

Childermass arched an eyebrow. “The thought had not crossed my mind, Mr Segundus. I raise the matter only that you may be on your guard and to tell you, do not take the Roads until I have dealt with the man.”

Segundus sputtered. To _tell_ him? _Tell_ him? “I do not require you to tell me how I may travel! I am a magician and if I were to cross paths with this blackguard I should spell him quite thoroughly. Good day, sir,” Segundus concluded and stepped home to Starecross.

-

Segundus’ mood on the subject was not improved when he travelled to Cambridge the following week only to find himself caught in a linen bedsheet. 

Upon finally untangling himself, his next challenge was to be Mr Denton, holding aloft a rare copy of _Encyclopedia Magica_ and looking quite ready to sacrifice damage to the binding so long as it also affected damage to Segundus’ skull.

“Oh dear,” Segundus said, ducking what was luckily a less than balanced swing. “Mr Denton, please desist!”

Denton, still recovering from the forward momentum of his attack, dropped the encyclopedia and turned, adjusting his small, wire spectacles. “Eh? Mr Segundus, is that you?”

“Yes, quite,” Segundus said, relieved. 

“I do beg your pardon, sir,” Denton said apologetically. “I see my letter did not reach you in time.”

“Indeed not.”

“There’s been a rash of thefts in town,” Denton explained. “Mrs Gosling’s ruby necklace was stolen last week and she swore up and down that she caught the fellow who took it in the act, only to see him escape through her dressing table mirror. No one could quite credit it, but then the same happened to Mrs Anders’ gold earrings and Mr Tate’s pocketbook and, in consequence, mirrors have become rather distrusted.”

“A troubling development,” Segundus agreed. Childermass had not yet been successful in his hunt then. “And covering the mirror seems to have less effect than one would hope.” 

They experimented with facing the mirror toward the wall but, by some effort, Segundus was able to push the frame back enough to force his way out.

“Then there is nothing for it,” Denton said sadly. “It will have to go with the others.”

“The others?” Segundus asked curiously. 

Denton nodded and Segundus found himself pressed into service to assist with carrying the mirror down High Street, the heavy magical tome he’d come for resting atop like a king on a palanquin, to what was evidently a makeshift graveyard for mirrors. Dozens rested sadly on their faces in an untilled field, watched over by a disinterested-looking cow. 

Denton and Segundus lowered their cargo face-up onto a dry patch of grass. “I will consult with my colleague on your troubles,” Segundus promised, oddly pleased to have reason to call upon Childermass.

“Safe travels, sir,” Denton said, looking at the mirror warily.

Segundus shook off a feeling of foreboding. _Do not take the roads until I have dealt with the man._ Surely this villainous magician had better things to be doing than haunting the King’s Roads at midday on a Tuesday. Tucking his book under one arm, Segundus laid his fingertips on the cool glass of the mirror.

There was a man on the King’s Roads, staring skyward with irritated perplexity. Segundus craned his neck to look. The mirrors of Cambridge reflected back the field and its disinterested cow a dozen times over.

The man turned to look at Segundus, his eyes a witching blue that hinted at faerie ancestry. A ruby necklace rested at his throat.

 _Oh dear,_ Segundus thought, casting his mind for a spell rather more powerful than the one he used to banish beetles from the garden. Perhaps he ought to have listened to Childermass after all.

-

“There will be two magicians,” said Vinculus. “The first shall fear me; the second shall long to behold me.”

“Yes, yes,” said Childermass, impatiently. “You have told us many times.” He reshuffled the cards of Marseilles. They’d been turning up The Hanged Man and The Lovers all morning. His own fault. Every time Childermass tried to focus on the mirror thief, his mind would flash to the image of Segundus, a becoming flush high in the man’s cheeks, as he said, quellingly, “Good day, sir.”

“Oh no,” Vinculus said, eyes twinkling. “This prophecy is quite new. Would you like to hear the rest?”

Childermass turned to look at Vinculus fully. He did not say yes.

“The first shall gather rubies and gold; the second shall seek far greater worth,” Vinculus declaimed. “Together they will meet at the crossroad.”

Childermass stood abruptly and pressed his hand to the mirror above the mantle.

-

“Mr Segundus!” Childermass called, unwisely, into the mist of the King’s Roads. His voice echoed through the dimness. He hadn’t caught sight of his thieving quarry since an encounter near Liverpool where the other magician had fled with irritating if gratifying quickness.

Childermass amplified his voice with a spell. “Mr Segundus!” he called again.

“Hello?” a voice came faintly from the west. Childermass turned and followed it with all speed.

“You did not tell me that the magician was part faerie,” Segundus said, with great dignity, from where he was tied, wrist and ankle, to one of the few well-preserved stone pillars by means of somewhat incongruous rose vines.

Childermass could have replied that he had not known, but it would have been a falsehood. The cards had been very clear when he’d first asked— The Moon alongside Justice reversed. “I did not think,” said Childermass, “that the knowledge would comfort you.”

“It does not,” said Segundus, dryly. He tugged ineffectually at his bonds. The roses seemed to have no effect of silencing him but Childermass could see where the thorns caught at Segundus’ sleeves and left long scratches along his soft palms. Flicking open his knife, Childermass cut carefully away at the vines. 

“Oh, thank you,” Segundus sighed, taking the hand Childermass offered to pull him to his feet.

Childermass let his hand linger. “You did not take my advice.”

Segundus bent to retrieve a book. Of course. “Yes, hmm, well I think it best not to dwell on that,” he said. “The gentleman who incarcerated me here indicated that he would soon be returning with a bespelled instrument with which to cut out my heart.”

“A most indecorous proposal.”

“Quite,” Segundus agreed.

“I did not say that I would cut out your heart,” the faeire-magician said, suddenly blinking into existence. “Only that I would cut it.”

Wielding a silver blade, he scored Childermass across the shoulder.

Childermass hissed in pain and reared back. His heel caught on a fragment of stone and he fell to the ground. 

Childermass scrambled for a spell. Above him, the magician’s face went suddenly blank. He toppled forward and Childermass looked up to see Segundus, leather-bound book clenched tightly in his hands on a downswing.

For a moment he only stared. Then Childermass got to his feet and cleared his throat. “A fine effort, Mr Segundus.” He bound the magician with the same ropes that had been used on Segundus. The man would make a fine first case for the new magical courts. 

Segundus reached into his pocket for a clean handkerchief and pressed it to the wound on Childermass’ shoulder. “I should like,” he said, his eyes clear, “to go home. Will you accompany me?”

“Yes,” Childermass said simply, and offered his hand.

  
  



End file.
